


Hilson Tumblr Prompts

by SageMasterofSass



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bets, Cat Ears, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Ficlets, M/M, Pet Ownership - Freeform, Red String of Fate AU, Tumblr Prompt, devious cuddy, i would die for peaches, prompt fills, serious plot turned funny sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-06-15 16:45:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.





	1. Blackmail

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said to scribespirare:  
> House/Wilson; someone needs House to do something for them so desperately that they take Wilson hostage
> 
>  
> 
> lmao i took some creative liability with the prompt and now it's fluffy and funny instead of tense i hope anon doesn't mind

So far today, House has been incredibly successful in being as sneaky as possible. He’s taken all the back hallways that he can, and stuck to areas where he doesn’t normally hang out. Like the radiology department’s break room, or that ridiculously huge storage room on the fifth floor that has fold out chairs tucked into the corner for some reason. He even ate his lunch in coma guy’s room.

 

So fucking sneaky.

 

Of course the reason he has to sneak around is because he hasn’t bothered putting in any of his clinic hours this week.

 

It’s Friday. Cuddy is probably apoplectic by now. Too bad she can’t find him. Really he’s just trying to keep her on her toes though, that’s definitely what all of this is about. She should be grateful for having a doctor like him on her staff, someone who thinks about her needs.

 

The most deadly area of attack is definitely the front foyer. It tends to be where Cuddy usually catches him, because it’s almost impossible to enter or leave the hospital via any other door. There are other options, of course, but they all involve stairs, an especially long walk to the parking garage, or trying to fight his way through the emergency room.

 

He considers the foyer from the position he’s taken up behind a potted fern. No Cuddy in sight, but that doesn’t mean much. She’s also quite sneaky. After ten minutes and a lot of dirty looks from the passing staff, he figures he must be in the clear. He limps his way across the open space as quickly as his bum leg can go.

 

The sweet air of freedom is just brushing his face when a firm clamps down on his shoulder.

 

“Dr.House,” the she-demon says, all faux sweet.

 

“Fuck,” House says succinctly. He turns to face her and notices the brittle, angry smile on her face with dread. There is victory shining in her eyes and he has a very bad feeling about this.

 

“Missed you in the clinic this week.”

 

House tries for his best smile-grimace. “My workload has just been so-”

 

“You finished your last case on Tuesday,” she cuts him off. Rude. “Remind me again what exactly I pay you for?”

 

“My amazing good looks and charm?” House tries.

 

“You have neither of those things,” Cuddy deadpans without even missing a beat. “Next week you owe me not just double, but triple clinic hours.”

 

House can physically feel his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. What game is she playing here? They both know he’s not going to work that many hours. “Tell you what,” he says after a moment. “I’ll work my regular hours and even throw in being super nice to all the nurses for once. How’s that?”  

 

A small, devious smirk pulls up the corners of Cuddy’s mouth. She looks like the shark about to eat the surfer, if House was actually physically capable of surfing anymore. “Oh, you’re going to work them all right.”

 

House narrows his eyes at her, though he has a sinking feeling in his gut. “And why on earth would I do that?”

 

She’s moving in the for the killing blow, he can see it in the confident set of her shoulders, though he’s briefly distracted as always by the low cut of her blouse. “Because I took something you love, and you can’t have him back until you give me all the hours you owe me.”

 

“Wilson.”

 

“Wilson,” she confirms proudly.

 

 

“You can’t just steal my boyfriend!” House says petulantly, and even adds in a little cane stomping to get his point across.

 

Cuddy doesn’t even seem fazed by his display, or the frankly adolescent term he loves to use for Wilson. Mostly because of the look Wilson gives him, all annoyance under laid with affection.

 

“I can and I will,” Cuddy says. “I’ve sent him to a conference across the country where the key speaker had a sudden…emergency.”

 

House stares her down for a long moment, but even he knows when he’s beat. “You are pure evil,” he tells her seriously.

 

It brings a smile to her face because she really is evil. “Drastic measures and all that,” she says breezily, like she hasn’t just ruined all of House’s weekend plans for keeping Wilson firmly in his bed. “Show up early next week, you’ll need the extra time to get in all those hours.”

 

She turns on her kitten heel and walks away, all swaying hips and chin high.

 

“Your horns are showing!” House calls loudly after in an attempt to get a last parting shot in.

 

She doesn’t even break stride. “Enjoy your weekend alone!” she calls back, waving one hand the air.

 

House curses her under her breath as finally turns and leaves. He was so goddamn close to freedom and now this.

 

Unsurprisingly, he does the clinic hours and bitches about them to Wilson the entire time. At least it puts that familiar fond exasperation on his face even if he doesn’t apologize for falling for Cuddy’s sinister plots.


	2. Married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wondergrrl:
> 
> Also maybe a one shot of times and reactions of when Wilson is introduced as House's husband. He is the only one who can get him to do anything so Cuddy uses him as the nuclear option. Just the reveal of Cuddy having to tell the fellows that if anything goes to far, tattle to his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for future reference i prefer to take prompts on my tumblr! it makes it easier to cross post the fics both there and here
> 
> anywho. i love writing from cuddy's pov lmao (mostly b/c im writing a lesbian fic about her) and this was rly fun

It’s well known around the hospital that if House is fucking shit up, you call Cuddy. It’s not like she has perfect control over him. We’re talking about House here, nobody has complete control over that man; he’s a walking talking natural disaster. There should be an alarm that goes off every time he comes up with another scheme.

 

But out of everyone, Cuddy’s track record for keeping him in line is the best, mostly because she’s the director and that counts for something, even with House.

 

At least…everyone __thinks__ Cuddy has the most power over him.

 

She doesn’t. She knows that, House knows that, but nobody else seems to. It confuses her because nobody seems to realize House and Wilson are even together, much less married. That Wilson has the most influence over House than literally anyone else in the world.

 

There’s a time when Foreman comes into her office, visibly pissed, and she’s been on hold for an hour with another hospital and is trying to navigate some very dangerous negotiation waters with them.

 

Foreman opens his mouth, but Cuddy only holds up a single finger to silence him.

 

“Whatever he’s done, tell his husband,” she says. The brief display of emotions across Foreman’s face is…confusing. But he leaves, and the other line picks up so she doesn’t have too much time to think about it.

 

Another time, the head nurse is complaining to her about House taking up one of the clinic rooms but not actually seeing any patients. It’s a busy day, and Cuddy just doesn’t have the time to argue and barter with him.

 

“Call Dr. Wilson’s extension and have him deal with House,” she tells the nurse. “He usually listens to his husband.”

 

The nurse gives her a strange look but walks off again. Cuddy stares after her before someone comes over the intercom and asks for her presence in the conference room.

 

The next day, Cuddy makes an offhand comment about House’s marriage to Cameron and the younger woman snorts loudly.

 

“Sure,” she says, not even looking up from the file she’s holding. “House, married. Right.”

 

She’s off into a patient’s room before Cuddy can ask her about it.

 

What the fuck.

 

Then Cuddy gets slammed with more work, and she forgets about it for a little while. She has more important things to do than wonder why even House’s fellows don’t seem to think he’s married, or why he doesn’t wear a wedding ring.

 

At some point she manages to find herself in the diagnostic team’s conference room though. It’s mostly because she needs to hunt House down, but he doesn’t seem to be present. Chase, Foreman, and Cameron are all gathered around the table when she comes in, and they all glance curiously up at her.

 

“Where’s House?” she asks them.

 

“He said he had something to discuss with Wilson,” Chase responds.

 

Right. Discuss. You couldn’t pay her a hundred dollars to walk into Wilson’s office right now. Hopefully they at least have it locked.

 

“Great. Any idea when he’ll be back?”

 

That garners her a few odd looks, like it’s unusual that she wouldn’t just…walk two offices down to find him. Which serves to remind her of all the weird interactions she’s had with them recently.

 

“Wait,” she cuts in before anyone can answer. “Has he seriously not told any of you that they’re together?”

 

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

 

“What,” Foreman says, not even a question, followed by an incredulous, “Is that a joke?” from Chase.

 

“They’re married,” Cuddy insists.

 

Cameron’s jaw opens then snaps closed again. Her brow is furrowed as she exchanges a long look with Chase, like she wants to say something but is kind of scared to because Cuddy signs her paychecks.

 

Foreman has no such hang ups. “There’s no way in hell he’s gay,” he deadpans.

 

__Bisexual, actually,__  Cuddy means to say, but the glass door behind her swings open. Speak of the devil and he shall appear and all that, because House comes limping in, pale gaze sweeping between Cuddy and his fellows before he arches an eyebrow at them all.

 

“Who’s not gay?” he asks.

 

“There’s no way you heard that,” Chase insists.

 

“I can read lips.”

 

Maybe House can finally put a stop to all this nonsense, although why the fellows won’t just take Cuddy’s word for it is beyond her. “Why on earth does nobody in this hospital seem to know you’re married?”

 

Both of House’s eyebrows arch at that. “I’m married?” he asks, all faux-confusion.

 

For a moment it makes Cuddy waver, because House has that power to make her doubt herself even when she knows she’s right. But then he resolves tightens. “I was literally at your wedding.”

 

“What!?” Cameron squeaks.

 

“For like, two seconds!” House insists, dropping the act.

 

“You’re __married?__ ” The outburst from Chase is followed closely by Foreman muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “Oh what the fuck.”

 

“Man, why’d you have to ruin the game? I’ve had everyone fooled for so long!” House whines. With a grumble he uses his cane to drag a chair closer and then collapse moodily into it.

 

Cuddy puts her hands on her hips and tries to decide if figuring out __why__ House didn’t want anyone to know he was married is worth it or not, but she’s cut off by Cameron.

 

“You don’t even wear a ring though.” Her voice is full of confusion, and maybe a little bit of hurt.

 

House deftly pulls a chain out from under his shirt, on the end of which hangs a simple silver band. From this distance it looks plain but if Cuddy remembers correctly it has something engraved on the inside of it. What, she doesn’t know.

 

Everyone’s attention is pulled from the ring when Wilson comes into the room next, looking a little rumpled and in the process of fixing his tie. Cuddy can practically feel the realization dawn over the fellows, slowly but inevitably, that Wilson is who she told them House was with. And that she hadn’t wanted to go disturb them in Wilson’s office.

 

Wilson glances up from his tie, and pauses as he realizes that every pair of eyes in the room is on him. He glances between everyone, confused. “What?”

 

House, the ring now laying visibly outside of his shirt, just gives him a shit eating grin. “Hey, honey. Nice of you to join us.”

 

Wilson’s brow furrows as he looks at House, and then a moment later his expression drops into one of shock, followed briefly by embarrassment. “Oh,” he says, then glances up at everyone else. “Uh. Well.”

 

“What the __fuck,”__ Foreman repeats, stronger and full of more feeling.


	3. Corgi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about one where Wilson finally convinced House to get a dog, House thinks its going to be some big bad rottweiler or something. it turns out to be a sweet corgi. I just want Wilson to say something like “ You think you want a complicated, hard to handle, leggy brunette. When really what you want is a sweet tempered, incredibly loyal and just happy to be with you blonde. So I got a corgi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was super cute and fun!!!

How about one where Wilson finally convinced House to get a dog, House thinks its going to be some big bad rottweiler or something. it turns out to be a sweet corgi. I just want Wilson to say something like " You think you want a complicated, hard to handle, leggy brunette. When really what you want is a sweet tempered, incredibly loyal and just happy to be with you blonde. So I got a corgi."

 

 

There’s an insistent knocking on House’s door. It’s 9 at night and he’s sprawled across his couch, beer in hand, and he’s not fucking getting up. He considers calling that the door is open, it’s probably Wilson after all, but then decides against it.

 

The knocking subsides for a moment, and then starts right back up again.

 

House rolls his eyes. “It’s open!” he yells, and thinks vaguely he might be getting another angry letter from his neighbors soon.

 

“My hands are full!,” Wilson’s voice filters through the wall a moment later.

 

Of fucking course they are. House reaches for his cane and pulls himself up from the couch, grumbling under his breath all the while. The front door swings open aggressively, and then he’s left to just. Stare.

 

There’s a large, wriggling animal in Wilson’s arms. The muddy, wriggling thing doesn’t even register as a dog for House until it turns it’s head to look at him, bright pink tongue lolling out of its mouth and brown eyes bright and happy. It blinks at him and opens its mouth wider, like it’s smiling.

 

Wilson peers over his furry burden, face streaked with mud and hair plastered to his head. It’s only then that House realizes it’s raining outside, can hear the patter of water against concrete that he hadn’t noticed before.

 

“What the fuck,” he says, no inflection at all.

 

“Can we come in?” Wilson asks sheepishly.

 

Because House has a hard time denying Wilson anything, even if he’ll never admit to it, he shuffles to the side so the other doctor can come in. Wilson immediately heads for the bathroom leaving House to close the door and limp after him.

 

“Alright, down you go,” he hears Wilson say in this soft, amused voice. “Into the tub. You’re filthy, gotta get you clean or he’ll never want to keep you.”

 

He’s got the bath water running by the time House makes it to the doorway. He leans against the frame, eyebrows arched as he watches Wilson test the water before grabbing the moveable shower head and switching the spray.

 

Even with his back turned, Wilson looks filthy. Like he rolled around in the mud with the damn dog before he came here.

 

The water sluicing off the animal is disgusting and brown, thick clumps of mud hitting the bottom of the tub with little splats. The dog leans it’s head back, eyes closed, clearly enjoying itself.

 

“Seriously, what he fuck,” House says.

 

Wilson glances over his shoulder at him, mouth quirking up on one side. “You said you wanted a dog.”

 

Yeah, he’d wanted something cool and intimidating that could also maybe so some of the stuff around the house that he struggled with. And also bring him a beer.

 

“That is an ankle-bitter, not a dog,” he says after a moment. “Did you pick it up off the side of the road? In the rain, no less?”

 

Wilson turns back to the task at hand, taking House’s shampoo to scrub the animal down. It’s definitely basking in the attention. “She’s a stray, but she’s very sweet and I think she’ll be perfect for you. We had a very informative discussion about it on our way over.”

 

House blinks, taking that in. “You…had a discussion with her,” he echoes, then shakes his head. “Take her to the shelter in the morning, she’s not staying.” With that he limps back out of the restroom and reclaims his spot on the couch.

 

His show is still playing, but he finds himself straining to hear the little bits of baby talk he can hear from the bathroom. Most of it is just benign, Wilson telling the dog how cute or good looking she is, presumably as she gets progressively less filthy. Sometimes he’s laughing and telling her to stop doing something or other.

 

After about fifteen minutes he hears the sound of pattering paws and the dog comes running into view, circling the couch and then off into the kitchen. Clean, she’s obviously a corgi. Long and low to the ground, her ears are sharp and stand up straight on her head, nose wet and black. She’s mostly white, and where most corgis are a sort of organish-tan her coloring leans more towards cream, very pale.

 

“I’m gonna grab a shower before I leave,” Wilson says, appearing next to the couch. He’s holding his wet, muddy shirt away from his body with a frown. “Mind if I borrow some clothes?”

 

House flips an errant hand at him. “Knock yourself out,” he says, then frowns when the corgi comes barreling into the living room and takes a leaping jump for the couch. “You’re taking her with you right?”

 

Something mischievous twitches at the corner of Wilson’s mouth. “No can do, my place doesn’t allow pets.” Before House can protest Wilson is back down the hallway, heading for House’s bedroom.

 

A cold nose presses to his arm and House jerks a little, turning to glare down at the corgi. She stares happily back at him, little rump wriggling as she tries to wag her stump of a tail. Without much warning she flops herself into his lap and he jackknifes up in pain, an angry “Fuck!” leaving his mouth as a small paw digs into his scar.

 

Immediately the dog backs off again, her ears lowered against her head, and House breathes through his teeth for a moment before reaching for his pills. This is one of the reasons he wanted a bigger dog, something cool and aloof that wouldn’t want to cuddle with him.

 

Popping a vicodin, he keeps his eye on the corgi as he settles back down again. Her ears are still flicked back but not flat against her skull anymore, and she’s watching him with inquisitive eyes. When he’s settled she steps forward tentatively, maneuvering around his bad leg with slow, careful movements until she can flop against his other one, which she also does carefully like this action might hurt him as well.

 

House is too stunned to do anything but watch and let her. When he gives no visible sign of discomfort she settles in and closes her eyes, seemingly content to just sit with him. After a moment he finds himself patting her head, her fur soft and slightly damp under his fingers. She lays still and quiet, and eventually he ends up switching his attention back to the TV.

 

Wilson flops down on the opposite end of the couch maybe thirty minutes later, towel around his neck and wearing House’s clothes. The sweatpants and t-shirt are both too small considering House’s lankier frame, but the pants are also rolled up on the bottom because he’s taller too. It’s an odd look but makes something flutter in House’s stomach anyways, especially when he realizes Wilson is wearing one of his favorite shirts, a well worn blue number. It looks unfairly good stretched across his broader shoulders.

 

“I see you’ve made friends,” Wilson comments idly.

 

House glances down at the dog only to realize he’s been petting her without realizing it. She stares up at him adoringly, head pillowed on her little white paws. He glances away again, attention briefly catching on the TV where an add for yogurt is playing.

 

“-five new flavors!” the voice-over is saying, “Peach, Blackberry, Plum-.” House tunes out the rest.

 

“I guess,” he says, patting Peaches again and then wincing a little internally when he realizes he’s named her. “I’m not keeping her though. Shouldn’t you be leaving, by the way?”

 

Wilson cocks his head to the side. “Can’t you hear that?” he asks.

 

Again House forces himself to stop and take in his surroundings, surprised to find that there’s a threatening rumble of thunder audible just under the noise of the TV. The sound of rain is more intense now, probably not safe to drive in.

 

“Only you would pick up a dog in the middle of a storm,” he grumbles, though he honestly doesn’t mind Wilson spending the night here with him. They’d both just be alone in their respective apartments anyways.

 

“The storm hadn’t even started when I picked her up,” Wilson protests gently. Peaches lifts her head to stare at him like she knows he’s talking about her, but doesn’t leave her spot against House’s side. “Why won’t you keep her? She’s clearly smitten with you.”

 

House glances down and she tilts her head back to look up at him. Her mouth opens in a little doggy smile and House forces himself to look away again. “I want a real dog,” he says instead of admitting she’s kind of fucking adorable. Gregory House doesn’t do cute.

 

Not for the corgi curled up against him, or the man on the other side of his couch, hair tousled and still damp, skin warm, his smile soft and slightly tired. Not cute like Peaches, but cute in his own way.

 

“A real dog?” Wilson echoes.

 

“Yeah. Something big and intimidating. Like a rottweiler.”

 

Wilson’s eyebrows arch up on his forehead. “House, you do not need a rottweiler.”

 

“How else am I supposed to intimidate my patients into not being stupid?”

 

That earns him a small laugh and a half-smile. “Cuddy would kill you before allowing you to bring an attack dog into the hospital.”

 

House snorts because there are a lot of things Cuddy would rather kill him before allowing, and they fall silent. He focuses on his show for a while, until Wilson’s voice pulls him out of it again.

 

“You know, I really think she’d be good for you,” he’s saying, gaze fixed on Peaches. She’s sound asleep now, breathing deep and even. “You think you need some…tall, leggy brunette but maybe a loyal blonde would be better.”

 

House arches an eyebrow and tracks the rise of a blush from Wilson’s throat to his cheeks.

 

“Wow,” he says dryly after a moment, because he’s nothing if not an asshole. “Are you talking about yourself or the dog, I can’t tell.”

 

Wilson’s entire face flushes now.

 

“And I think your past wives might have something to say about you being ‘loyal’.”

 

Peaches, who was apparently not asleep after all, bumps her head against his side and gives him a strange look when he glances down. He sighs and fixes on Wilson again, who is staring determinedly at the fair wall, jaw tight.

 

“I’m teasing,” he admits gruffly. “I just didn’t think you’d make a move via dog ownership. A little strange but it’s paying off.”

 

That has Wilson turning to look at him again, features smoothing out a little. The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Is it now?”

 

“Still not keeping the dog,” House mutters, even as Wilson starts to close the gap between them.

 

oOo

 

When House wakes up the next morning, Peaches is on the floor next to the bed. House’s cane is next to her, dragged from the living room where it had been forgotten the night before. She beams up at him, little rump wriggling.

 

He keeps the damn dog.


	4. More Married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> So we all now know that House hid his relationship from the fellows, but maybe we could have a couple moments where he was really teasing them or blatantly flirting with Wilson to see if they get it. like maybe slapping his butt or after being handed coffee saying "this is why I married you" Houses POV would be hilarious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you’re right this WAS hilarious. i don’t know what it is i find so appealing about them hiding their relationship but damn is it a good trope 
> 
> side note, the patient in this is definitely me. i have this exact condition and know a lot about it and also didn’t feel like researching something else.

“There’s no point in hiding something for amusement if whoever you’re hiding it from doesn’t don’t know you’re hiding anything in the first place,” House announces one slow, Monday afternoon.

His fellows eye him warily.

“Anyways,” Foreman says, “the patient is showing classic symptoms of acute anemia but the iron supplements aren’t doing anything to help. And that’s on top of the severe abdominal pain, dehydration, and bloody vomit.”

Okay so maybe it’s not so slow. But this is an easy case and House can’t believe these so called doctors haven’t figured it out already. “Were they taking iron supplements before being admitted?” he asks slowly.

Cameron’s brow furrows, like she hadn’t even considered the possibility that the supplements might have something to do with all of this. “Yes. Is that relevant?”

“Of course it is!” House snaps. “Take them off the supplements and up their fluids to fight the dehydration.” God they’re so stupid sometimes. How did any of them graduate medical school?

“When they start to improve come find me. I’ll be with my sweetheart.” He limps towards the door and out into the hall, barely catching Chase’s confused “Sweetheart?” and Foreman’s dry, “Who knows.”

oOo

Chase finds him in Wilson’s office an hour or two later. Wilson, who has already been clued in on House’s little scheme and is disapproving but not so much that he’d spoil his husband’s fun because he’s the best like that.

Chase offers House the patient’s file. “They’re starting to improve, just like you said. Is there anything else we should do now?”

House doesn’t bother to take it, just lets Chase’s arm hang awkwardly in the air. “Yeah. Test their iron levels and run an electrophoresis panel as well.”

“Your anemic patient?” Wilson asks, one eyebrow cocking. “Why wasn’t that done on admission?”

Chase’s mouth opens to answer, but House beats him to the punch. “I don’t know, honey but I generally go with ‘everyone in this hospital is incompetent except for me’. Oh, and you too dear, don’t worry.”

That causes Chase’s mouth to snap closed with an audible click. Wilson doesn’t appear the least bit fazed, which seems to throw Chase off even more. He clears his throat. “Uh. Right. I’ll just go run the the panels then.”

He wanders out of the office, and Wilson’s mouth curves into a small smile. “You’re right, that was pretty fun.”

House offers him a shark’s grin.

oOo

“The hemoglobin electrophoresis showed an abnormally large number of pale or damaged blood cells,” Foreman says.

House, collapsed in a rolling chair with his feet up on the conference table, sighs over dramatically. “And what does that suggest?”

Silence.

“C’mon!” House groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “It’s not that hard! It’s not even that rare of a condition!”

Wilson chooses that moment to come striding through the doors, mug in hand. Ostensibly he’s here to use their coffee machine because it’s closer than the one in the break room. But really he’s just here as part of their master plan to fuck with the fellows.

“What’s not hard?” he asks as he passes by.

“You,” House quips, and then slaps Wilson’s ass. “But you will be later.”

The tension and confusion in the room ratchets up by ten degrees, especially since Wilson just gives House a little reprimanding look over his shoulder without actually saying anything. The fellows all look various levels of shocked, Cameron’s being the most obvious and therefore most amusing. House raises his eyebrows at them.

“Electrophoresis?” he prods. “What does it mean?”

Foreman is the first to pull himself back together again. “It..could suggest an alpha thalassemia trait in their DNA.”

“Bingo!”

“I could have told you that within ten minutes of seeing the patient,” Wilson says from beside the coffee machine. He’s adding sugar to two different mugs.

House grins at him even though Wilson’s back is turned. “And that’s why I love you,” he sighs dreamily.

Cameron turns to glance at Chase, whose eyebrows are trying to climb into his hair. Without so much as missing a beat House schools his expression into one of annoyance and turns back to them. “So. What happens when you pump someone full of iron even though they physically can’t use it all?”

“…Iron poisoning?” Chase offers after a moment, and then, face turning red, “I’m sorry but is this some kind of-”

His idiotic spluttering is cut off when Wilson places a cup of coffee down in front of House, mostly black with a splash of sugar and cream, just the way he likes it. House grins up at him. “Love the medical knowledge, but I definitely married you for your coffee skills.”

The room goes quiet. Expectant. All eyes are fixed on the pair of them.

The corner of Wilson’s mouth turns up. “I should hope you married me for more than just that,” he says, bending down to press a kiss to House’s forehead, domestic and sweet. Then he’s gone, sweeping out of the room with his mug in hand, back to his own office.

The fellows stare on in mute, horrified silence.  

House leans back in his chair, smiling like the cat that caught the canary.


	5. Cat Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Send me a fandom/character/pairing and an AU/a trope/a picture and I’ll write three sentences about it.-Hilson and animal ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so slow answering these and im v sorry about it!! but i wrote you more than three sentences, so there’s that?

Cameron is the first to come into the conference room. She’s got her head down, gaze flicking over a file and a warm cup of coffee in hand.

 

“You’re here early,” she comments idly, taking a seat. She still hasn’t looked up.

 

House rolls his neck on his shoulders. “Wilson has learned that the key to my early rising is morning sex…Literally.”

 

It’s amusing to watch Cameron’s nose wrinkle, but it’s even more amusing when she finally looks up, a reprimand dying on her tongue as soon as she catches sight of House. Or more specifically, what’s on his head.

 

“Um-” she says, and then her lips press tight together like she’s trying not to laugh.

 

House narrows his eyes at her. “It’s a bet, don’t get too excited.”

 

Her mouth opens once, closes, opens again, before she finally coughs. “Right. Well…they’re uh, very fuzzy.”

 

Fuzzy indeed. They’re only a slight weight but House still reaches up to adjust them, not so much self conscious as he is just very aware of their presence. The black felt is soft under his fingers, little sprigs of fake fur tickling him. The headband they’re attached to is a little more bothersome; kind of scratchy, and starting to give him a headache.

 

Still, a bets a bet. House is going to wear these stupid cat ears all day and then Wilson will be forced to cough over a nice sized lump of cash, __and__ put out.

 

Avoiding the patients will be easy, if only so that he doesn’t have to keep explaining himself. If he stays up stairs he won’t garner too much attention with the staff as well. But his fellows? Well, as much as he wishes he could, he can’t avoid them.

 

Chase and Foreman arrive in tandem. House is sure there’s a joke to be made there, but their shocked expressions are enough for him to revel in for now.

 

“You know Halloween’s not for another two months, right?” Foreman asks. Beside him, Chase’s eyes are huge and he’s looking anywhere but at House, like he might break into uncontrollable laughter if he stares for too long.

 

“What can I say, I was feeling fashionable today,” House quips back. “It was a bet.”

 

Foreman’s eyebrows jump. “Who in their right mind would bet against you when you obviously have no shame?”

 

“Wilson.”

 

There’s a beat of silence where the rest of the room seems to realize, all at once, what the implications of House wearing cat ears for Wilson are. Again Cameron’s nose wrinkles, Foreman looks a little sick to his stomach, and finally the laugh Chase was trying so hard to hold in comes belting out.

 

House frowns at him. “No need to be mean.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, clearly not. “It’s just…wow. I can’t believe he’s into that. You look ridiculous, not sexy.”

 

Cameron chokes on her tongue and House places a wounded hand over his heart. “So mean! Whatever will I do knowing that my favorite Aussie surgeon doesn’t find me fuckable?”

 

“Please,” Foreman begs. “Don’t we have a case?”

 

House grabs for his cane and levers himself to his feet. “Cameron has something, but you guys are jerks so I’m going to cry to mommy about it. That’s code for office sex by the way, so don’t need me for the next hour or so.”

 

“More like ten minutes,” Foreman mutters uncharitably, but House is already out the door so he can’t hit him with his cane for it.


	6. Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Hilson, #5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …where it doesn’t hurt

The rain wakes him before his alarm clock even has the chance. It’s not storming or anything, but the sky outside is a soft, sun-light grey, and water taps insistently at his window. Once upon a time he’d actually enjoyed the rain.

 

Now the rain means pain.

 

The bed is warm and comfortable around him, but his leg is already a banked fire ready to rage into life.

 

House sighs and sits up to slap his alarm clock before it can even go off. The arm around his waist tightens and House grunts as it gently drags him back into bed. Wilson presses his face into House’s shoulder, all tousled hair and bad breath. Still, he looks pretty cute like this.

 

“’S Sunday,” Wilson murmurs into the fabric of House’s t-shirt. “Should sleep in.”

 

“It’s raining,” House grumbles back, his voice a low, rough murmur.

 

For a moment they’re still, but then Wilson sighs deeply and pushes up onto one arm so that he can hover over House. There are red sleep marks on his face and his eyes are only half open. “It hurts, right?”

 

House wants to snap at him, but between the tap of the rain and the hum of the air conditioner, the warm, familiar feeling of Wilson being so close to him, he can’t find it within himself. So he closes his eyes and nods instead, and feels the faint press of lips against each of his eyelids for his trouble.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Wilson murmurs. The bed dips and then springs back into place as he gets up, his foot steps muffled against the wooden floor.

 

House drifts lazily while he’s gone, wanting to go back to sleep but buoyed by the slowly growing pain. He’s trying to avoid rubbing at his thigh because he knows that’ll only make it worse.

 

It feels like eons pass before Wilson’s soft, shuffling footsteps return.

 

“Here, sit up,” he says.

 

House complies reluctantly, but then grabs eagerly for the orange bottle in Wilson’s palm. The sap has also brought him a glass of water, even though House perfected the act of swallowing his meds dry ages ago. He drinks it anyways, because it makes Wilson smile gently at him.

 

“That should help,” Wilson murmurs, taking the glass from him and setting it aside. Then he crawls back into bed, careful of House’s leg but otherwise ridiculously clingy. “Now back to sleep.”

 

The rain taps at the window in time with Wilson’s beating heart and House sighs as the Vicodin starts to kick in. He threads his fingers through the other man’s hair and falls asleep like that only a few short minutes later.


	7. Red String of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> XANOTHERXDIMENSIONX-MAIN  
> ASKED A QUESTION   
> Hey I just discovered your house MD fics and I ADORE them!! Next time you've got time for a request could we see a red string of fate au?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dear i may be neck deep in bnha but it was such a fresh breeze to write more house so im so glad you stopped by!! sorry it took me so long wheezzee

The morning House wakes up and there’s a thin, untouchable, red string wrapped tight around his left pinky he thinks maybe he’s developed a fun new side effect from his Vicodin. It passes straight through his fingers when he tries to grab it, but the shape and form don’t wobble. He can cup his hands tight together but the string, which snakes off into the distance in defiance of gravity, doesn’t disappear.

House spends a little while fucking with it then shrugs his shoulders and goes to work. It’s only as he’s walking into the hospital that he starts to think maybe this hallucination thing is starting to get out of hand.  _Everyone_ has a red string attached to their hand. Some on different fingers, some frayed and drooping, some slightly off color. The corridors are awash with all these little strings floating everywhere, going who the fuck knows where.

He doesn’t really connect the concept of the string of fate to what he’s seeing until he walks into an exam room and finds a couple waiting for him. The string that connects them is a bright, cherry red, and shortens and lengthens as the man paces but keeps them connected nonetheless. House goes through his usual motions, tries to be an ass, picks on any insecurities he can but their relationship is rock solid and he ends up being the barer of good news when he tells the wife that she’s pregnant. He leaves awkwardly as they cry happy tears into each others arms.

As educated as House is, he knows about the myth. Doesn’t mean he’s ever thought much of it, kind of like the old Greek tale that humans were originally two-headed, four-armed creatures that got separated and are now forever looking for their other halves. It’s trash. Romantic, soppy trash that appeals only to the lonely and insecure.

And yet.

Maybe he’s sleeping. Or he overdosed again. Maybe one of his fellows slipped him something when he wasn’t looking. Why his brain would chose this particular hallucination is beyond him, but it can’t possibly be real. After all, there’s a very intact string around House’s finger with, supposedly, somebody else on the end of it.

There’s no fucking way he has a soulmate.

If he followed it he might find out. But he’s not going to let himself. He can’t play into his own stupid delusion.

Maybe its time for some therapy after all? …Nah. House finishes his clinic rounds and goes back up to his office to toss his tennis ball and brood for a while. There’s no case going on currently so it’s not like he has much else to do, and Cuddy will kill him if he skips out early again. Something about abiding by his office hours or some shit.

The fellows are hanging out in the conference room when he comes in and he gives them a little wave through the glass wall but doesn’t join them. Besides brief acknowledgement of their own they don’t bother him either, which is a change of pace and surprisingly pleasant.

All three of them also have strings. None of them are connected to each other, though he knows Chase and Cameron were bumping uglies there for a while. They all wander off at some point without House being able to figure out who they’re connected to and he sighs and throws his feet up on his desk. Where’s someone with a weird, deadly disease when you need them?

The sound of his office door opening draws him from his thoughts, as does Wilson’s quiet, “House.”

House shifts, turning his head to look at his friend. Immediately his gaze is draw down to his hands. Strong hands, those. Comforting. Skilled. Sure enough, there’s a red string on his right pinky. Said string seems to float in the air between them, and as Wilson prattles about something or another, House follows its meandering path with his eyes.

Straight to his own hand.

He sits up so fast he nearly falls out of his chair.

“House?” Now Wilson sounds concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh,” says House, jerking his gaze a few times between their hands to confirm what it is he’s seeing. Then he forcibly relaxes his shoulders and expression to try and throw off his friend. Who is also apparently his soulmate, at least in whatever part of is subconscious is controlling this little hallucination. “Sorry, just remembered I recorded some porn on the TIVO. Gotta get home.”

But the look on Wilson’s face is strangely knowing, a little excited. He takes a single step forward then holds up his right hand. “You wouldn’t happen to be seeing anything, would you?” he asks with a little wriggle of his fingers.

House’s eyes narrow. They can’t possibly be having the same hallucination.

“I saw you looking. Nothing?”

“Maybe,” House hedges, and instantly Wilson’s shoulders are drooping. He knows an admission when he hears one.

“Oh good. I’ve been seeing them for days now.”

“The strings?”

“Yeah.” Wilson runs a hand through his hair, the other one settling on his hip. “Weird, right? Thought I was going crazy.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I hallucinated weird shit,” House grumbles. “Though I’ve gotta say you as my soulmate is a new one.”

The other man barks a sharp laugh. “Right? I guess platonic soulmates are a thing.”

For a moment House weighs his options. He still doesn’t really believe this situation at all, much less the concept of some cosmic interference bringing people together, constructing them to complement each other. But if there were such a thing as soulmates…well, Wilson as his isn’t actually a bad thought. Scary, maybe, because Wilson was always too precious to lose even before gaining some magical other-half status. But maybe that also means that House  _isn’t_ destined to fuck this up. So he goes for it.

“Sure,” he agrees easily, rocking back in his chair. “But I’ve been in love with you for years so I don’t think platonic is the right label.”

Wilson pauses, mouth slightly open. It’s like watching a computer blue-screen right before it dies on you completely. House gives him a second to get his thoughts together than pulls his legs off the desk and heaves himself up right in the chair. “So. Dinner at my place tonight.”

“Uh,” Wilson says, distinctly red in the face. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

House smiles, and it feels strangely genuine on his face. “Sweet. You’re driving.”

**Author's Note:**

> send me more prompts on [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)!


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